f 


POEMS 

By 
MRS.  ELIZABETH^MARKHAM 

An  Oregon  Pioneer  of  1 847  -i  8  5  7 


PORTLAND,  OREGON 

THE  J.  K.  GILL  COMPANY 

1921 


POEMS 

By 
MRS.  ELIZABETH  MARKHAM 

An  Oregon  Pioneer  of  1 847-1 857 


PORTLAND, OREGON 

THE  J.  K.  GILL  COMPANY 

1921 


Dedicated  to 


by  the 
'.ORKGON  PIONEER  ASSOCIATION 


FOREWORD 

THE  VISIT  OF  EDWIN  MARKHAM  to  his 
native  land  revives  many  pleasant  and  interest 
ing  recollections.  As  a  child  of  five  he  went  away 
with  his  parents.  Now  he  returns  as  a  mature  man 
who  has  achieved  a  world-wide  fame  that  reflects 
honor  upon  his  family,  distinction  upon  the  place  of 
his  birth,  and  is  most  gratifying  to  its  citizenship. 

As  another  son  of  an  Oregon  Pioneer,  I  trust  it 
will  not  be  regarded  as  temerity  on  my  part,  if  I  aid 
in  extending  to  our  distinguished  visitor  a  hearty  and 
fitting  welcome.  A  prompting  incentive  is  the  fact 
that  his  parents  and  mine  made  the  long  and 
wearisome  journey  across  the  plains  in  1847  in  the 
same  immigrant  train. 

His  mother  was  held  in  high  esteem  by  mine.  I 
have  frequently  heard  her  speak  of  Mrs.  Markham's 
culture  and  ability;  also  of  her  literary  work,  some 
of  which  was  done  under  peculiar  difficulties  during 
their  long  hegira  westward.  She  told  me  that  I  could 
recognize  Mrs.  Markham's  writings  by  the  initials 
"E.  M."— Elizabeth  Markham. 

When  I  first  met  Edwin  Markham,  July  8,  1915,  at 
a  reception  tendered  him  at  the  Panama-Pacific  Ex 
position,  San  Francisco,  in  the  Oregon  building,  I 
related  the  foregoing  and  other  incidents,  which  nat 
urally  interested  him  very  much.  He  requested  me 
to  get  as  many  of  his  mother's  poems  which  had  been 
published  in  Oregon  as  I  could.  Agreeable  thereto, 
I  have  gladly  collated  the  accompanying  poems,  and 
given  the  names  and  dates  of  the  papers  in  which 
they  were  published,  all  of  which  were  found  in  the 
archives  of  the  Oregon  Historical  Society. 

Oregon  admires,  loves  and  welcomes  her  distin 
guished  son.  j  D 


930763 


[Si 
A  Contrast  on  Matrimony 

1  The  man  must  lead  a  happy  life, 

2  Free  from  matrimonial  chains, 

3  Who  is  directed  by  a  wife 

4  Is  sure  to  suffer  for  his  pains. 

1  Adam  could  find  no  solid  peace, 

2  When  Eve  was  given  for  a  mate, 

3  Until  he  saw  a  woman's  face 

4  Adam  was  in  a  happy  state. 

1  In  all  the  female  face,  appear 

2  Hypocrisy,  deceit  and  pride  ; 

3  Truth,  darling  of  a  heart  sincere, 

4  Ne'er  known  in  woman  to  reside. 

1  What  tongue  is  able  to  unfold 

2  The  falsehoods  that  in  woman  dwell ; 

3  The  worth  in  woman  we  behold, 

4  Is  almost  imperceptible. 


[6] 

1  Cursed  be  the  foolish  man,  I  say, 

2  Who  changes  from  his  singleness  ; 

3  Who  will  not  yield  to  woman's  sway 

4  Is  sure  of  perfect  blessedness. 

To  advocate  the  ladies'  cause,  you  will  read  the  first 
and  third,  and  second  and  fourth  lines  together. 

E.  M. 

Oregon  Spectator,  June  15,  1848. 


[7] 
Hearts  May  Warm  the  Winter 

Hearts  may  warm  the  winter, 
Hearts  will  melt  the  snow ; 

If,  while  hopes  are  freezing, 
Friendship  be  not  so. 

Worlds  of  ice  may  bound  us, 
Hearts  will  break  their  chains, 

While  our  friends  surround  us, 
While  their  love  remains. 

Household  gods  lie  scattered 
Round  the  ruined  hearth. 

Do  we  mourn  them  shattered, 
Do  we  weep  their  dearth  ? 

No ;  if  love  but  cheer  us 
On  our  withered  way ; 

Friendship,  too,  keep  near  us, 
What  of  their  decay? 

E.  M. 

Oregon  Spectator,  January  11,  1849. 


The  Maiden's  Dream 

On  the  banks  of  the  Willamette 

She  saw  her  love  standing, 

In  the  shade  of  the  tall  evergreen  ; 

So  dear  to  her  heart 

Was  that  form  so  commanding, 

But  the  dark  waters  rolling  between. 

She  saw  him  awaiting 

Most  gracefully  bowing, 

And  hastened  that  she  in  return — 

Some  token  might  give  him, 

Of  confidence  in  him, 

With  rapture  her  bosom  did  burn. 

And  as  she  was  straying 
The  zephyrs  were  saying, 
As  they  float  at  the  brink  of  the  stream- 
Oh,  maiden,  forbear, 
Not  a  sigh  or  a  tear, 
When,  lo,  she  awoke  from  her  dream. 

E.  M. 

Oregon  Spectator,  February  22,  1849. 


[9] 
Imaginary  Ship  Wreck 

By  MRS.  E.  MARKHAM 

What  sound  is  it  arrests  our  ear? 
Is  it  the  accents  of  despair, 
It  is  the  sufferers'  dying  prayer, 
A  tempest  on  the  sea. 

The  howling  winds,  the  distant  cry, 
The  piercing  shrieks,  the  tearful  eye, 
The  seas  are  rolling;  must  they  die 
And  perish  in  despair? 

Is  there  no  hope,  no  arm  to  save, 
On  the  land  or  on  the  wave ; 
Dangers,  death  or  distance  brave, 
To  chain  the  tyrant  down? 

Again  they  bend  their  suppliant  knee, 
And  gazing  fearful  on  the  sea, 
Imploring  heaven  to  set  them  free, 
And  bring  them  safe  to  land. 


[IOJ 

Confusion  reigns  mid  such  alarms, 
To  give  up  life  with  all  its  charms ; 
To  sink  in  death's  cold  icy  arms, 
With  terror  must  be  fraught. 

On  that  frail  bark  one  sparkling  gem 
Outshines  the  costly  diadem ; 
No  royal  blood,  compared  with  him 
Is  worth  a  transient  thought. 

The  heavens  were  lit,  the  lightnings  gleam, 
And  round  their  ship  a  fiery  stream ; 
The  ocean  yawned — a  fearful  scream — 
She  sank  beneath  the  wave. 

The  omen  bird  now  flaps  its  wings 
And  tidings  from  the  ocean  brings 
O !  who  can  touch  the  trembling  strings 
Or  chaunt  the  funeral  dirge. 

Oregon  Spectator,  October  18,  1849. 


[II] 

The  Departure 

Adieu,  adieu,  the  Ocean  Bird 

Has  took  her  flight  to  yonder  bay, 

And  ploughing  through  the  foaming  surge 
She  bears  from  us  our  friends  away. 

That  glittering  gold  is  dearly  won, 
That  disunites  congenial  minds, 

Our  fathers,  husbands,  friends  and  sons, 
Have  fled  to  California's  mines. 

A  weeping  mother  bathed  in  tears, 
In  black  despair  her  bosom  swells, 

And  wrapped  in  dark  foreboding  fears, 
A  mother's  love,  what  tongue  can  tell. 

It's  like  the  thornless,  budding  rose, 
Its  treasures  are  as  yet  untold ; 

It's  lasting  as  Mount  Helen's  snows, 
And  purer  than  the  virgin  gold. 


[12] 

She  heeds  no  dangers,  toil,  or  death, 
Nor  fears  to  search  the  desert's  wild, 

And  in  her  last  expiring  breath, 
Her  richest  prayer  is  for  her  child. 

The  father  leaves  his  happy  home, 
Let  fancy  paint  the  parting  scene, 

His  weeping  consort  sad  and  lone, 
The  troubled  ocean  rolls  between. 

He  leaves  the  babes  he  loves  so  dear, 
To  search  for  wealth  that  golden  ore, 

One  lingering  look,  a  sigh,  a  tear, 
They  part,  perhaps  to  meet  no  more. 

Blow,  blow,  ye  winds,  a  pleasant  gale, 
And  speed  them  on  their  trackless  way. 

Ye  Ocean  Bird,  unfurl  your  sails, 
Till  safe  in  San  Francisco's  Bay. 

Time's  rolling  wheels  pass  swiftly  by, 
And  usher  in  that  happy  morn, 

On  every  breeze  we'll  send  a  sigh, 
A  prayer  to  God  for  their  return. 

E    M 

Oregon  Spectator,   November  1,  1849. 


[13] 

My  Native  Home 

i 

By  MRS.  ELIZABETH  MARKHAM 

The  thoughts  of  home  my  bosom  thrill, 
I  love  my  native  country  still — 
Her  flowing  streams  and  gushing  rills, 
Her  sunshine  and  her  storms. 

And  birds  of  sweet  melodious  strains, 
Her  summer  showers  and  autumn  rains ; 
I  love  her  wide  extended  plains, 
In  nature's  loveliest  forms. 

Her  flowing  rivers  wide,  and  deep, 
In  majesty  and  grandeur  sweep 
To  the  Atlantic's  rolling  deep, 
Their  tribute  there  to  pay. 

And  when  my  heart  was  sad  and  lone, 
Through  her  sweet  groves  I  love  to  roam 
To  hear  the  wild  bird's  merry  tone — 
Her  plaintive  melody. 


I  loved  the  briar  and  roses  fair, 
That  scent  alike  the  morning  air; 
I  loved  to  kneel  with  those  in  prayer — 
Heirs  of  immortal  rest. 

To  guide  my  steps  a  father  near, 
And  brothers  kind  and  sisters  dear 
To  kiss  away  the  falling  tear, 
With  arms  of  love  caressed. 

Like  incense  on  the  morning  air 
Arose  for  me  a  mother's  prayer, 
And  time  rolled  on  without  a  care 
To  check  my  youthful  glee. 

Where  now's  the  cherished  ones  I  knew ! 
They  have  vanished  like  the  morning  dew, 
Tho'  scenes  are  changed,  yet  fancy  drew 
Their  portraits  on  the  mind. 

A  marble  slab  both  long  and  wide 
Now  marks  the  spot,  so  sure  a  guide, 
Where  parents  sleeping  side  by  side, 
The  weeping  willows  bend. 


[is] 

Tho'  now  concealed  beneath  the  earth 
They  taught  me — O  !  their  matchless  worth — 
To  love  the  land  that  gave  me  birth — 
The  banners  of  the  brave. 

The  names  of  those  illustrious  ones, 
Who  fought  bold  Briton's  haughty  sons. 
Their  blood  was  spilt,  the  conquest  won, 
Columbia's  sons  were  free. 

Their  deathless  fame, — that  patriot  band — 

In  golden  letters  truth  shall  stand 

While  Stars  and  Stripes  sweep  sea  and  land, 

Our  land  of  liberty. 
Oregon  City,  November  16,  1849. 

Oregon  Spectator,  November  29,  1849. 


1*6] 

Voice  of  Intemperance 

I  rove  through  the  city 
Or  prowl  on  the  plain, 

And  boast  of  the  innocent 
Victims  I've  slain ; 

Of  my  widows  and  orphans, 
The  tears  they  have  shed ; 

Of  desolate  hovels, 

And  hearts  that  have  bled ; 

Of  minds  once  enlightened, 
In  the  ranks  of  the  brave; 

Of  the  fate  of  the  monarch, 
Or  the  death  of  the  slave. 

When  I  ride  on  the  ocean 

Or  sail  on  the  lake, 
I  mark  down  the  millions 

That  follow  my  wake. 


[17] 

To  the  mother  that  weeps 
O'er  the  fate  of  her  son, 

I  boast  of  the  chivalrous 
Deeds  I  have  done — 

The  oceans  of  blood 
And  tears  I  have  spilt, 

And  witnessed  cruelty, 
Sorrow  and  guilt. 

At  a  breath  or  a  touch 
Of  my  magical  wand, 

The  mighty  are  fallen — 
Their  wealth  I  command. 

The  home  of  the  happy 
Is  wrecked  at  my  name ; 

The  spoils  of  the  wealthy 
Is  the  height  of  my  fame  ; 

The  brow  of  the  beautiful, 

Lovely  and  gay, 
I  have  mantled  with  shame 

And  stamped  with  dismay, 


[18.] 

The  maid  on  her  lover 
Looks  down  with  disdain 

For  the  ties  that  had  bound  them 
I  had  severed  in  twain. 

The  pride  of  man's  heart, 

Her  music  and  song, 
Is  turned  into  wailing 

As  I  entered  the  throng. 

The  voice  of  his  children, 
As  they  sport  in  the  dale, 

At  the  sound  of  the  revel 
Is  swept  from  the  vale. 

But  I  felt  my  influence 

Begin  to  decay, 
When  the  cold  water  army 

Was  set  in  array. 

But  her  ranks  are  so  broken 
Her  chieftains  are  fled, 

That  I've  taken  fresh  courage 
And  hold  up  my  head. 


My  health  is  improving, 

I  feel  no  alarms, 
Since  the  cold  water  army 

Have  laid  down  their  arms. 

E.  M. 
Oregon  City,  December  20,  1849. 

Oregon  Spectator,  December  27,  1849. 


[20] 

The  Dream  of  Ambition 

By  MRS.  ELIZABETH  MARKHAM 

The  dream  of  ambition !  Ye  sloth,  hear  the  sound 
Cease  digging  in  darkness  like  moles  in  the  ground 
Break  off  those  strong  fetters !  lift  up  your  dull  eye 
And  learn  ye  this  lesson,  the  sun  shines  on  high. 

No  longer  go  creeping  like  snails  on  the  ground ; 
Preferment  by  sluggards  has  never  been  found. 
The  dream  of  ambition,  young  man,  hear  the  call, 
Nor  suffer  intemperance  your  souls  to  enthrall. 

Be  wise,  shun  the  viper,  it  wounds  you,  it  kills — 
The  poisonous  infection  produced  by  the  still. 
Disdain  such  pollution,  stand  firm  on  your  guard ! 
In  life  a  high  station,  in  death  a  reward ! 

Washington  and  Franklin,  have  you  read  of  thei 

names? 

How  they  arose  from  obscurity  to  a  pinnacle  of  fanK 
Till  their  fame  does  resound  upon  sea  as  on  shore? 
At  the  name  of  our  Washington  how  the  cannons  d< 

roar. 


[21] 

Napoleon's  ambition  would  conquer  a  world, 
But  down  from  that  pinnacle  the  tyrant  was  hurled. 
Let  youth  then  take  warning;  seek  fame  and  renown 
By  conquering  their  follies,  their  vices  bring  down. 

No  ignorance  or  darkness  pervades  o'er  that  mind 
Where  talent,  ambition  and  virtue  combine. 
O  !  glorious  ambition  !    O  !  who  could  forbear 
To  nourish  that  plant  in  his  bosom  with  care? 

Its  a  gem  worth  possessing,  when  well  understood, 
It  leadeth  man  up  to  the  throne  of  his  God ; 
He  will  gird  on  his  armour,  prepare  for  the  fray, 
Lose  life,  perhaps  honor,  in  winning  the  day. 

He  will  never  cease  rowing  up  the  river  of  fame 
Till  his  bark  reach  the  fountain — the  summit  attain. 
The  dream  will  cease  then,  and  the  tale  will  be  told 
And  engraved  on  his  tombstone  in  letters  of  gold. 

Oregon  City,  January  i,  1850. 

Oregon  Spectator,  January  10,  1850. 


[22] 

Woman 

Written  for  amusement  and  handed  to  the  Spectator 
only  by  especial  request. 

No  light  that  shines  in  yonder  sky 
Can  cheer  the  soul  like  woman's  eye ; 
No  depth  of  seas,  no  shifting  sands 
Contain  in  them  such  wealth  for  man. 

Nor  earth  can  with  her  mines  impart 
No  purer  gold  than  woman's  heart ; 
The  orphan  boy  by  her  is  fed, 
She  lingers  round  the  dying  bed. 

And  man  while  sinking  to  the  tomb, 

She  cheers  him  on  through  death's  dark  gloom 

By  her  unfeigned  and  gentle  love, 

She  makes  the  dying  pillow  smooth. 

And  with  her  hands  and  tender  care, 
She  forms  the  shroud  for  him  to  wear; 
And  with  her  sweet  consoling  voice 
She  makes  the  sorrowing  heart  rejoice. 


[23] 

With  sleepless  eye  and  noiseless  tread, 
She  guards  the  nursling's  cradle  bed ; 
And  woman's  love  is  a  holy  light, 
Time  cannot  dim  its  radiance  bright. 

Distance  nor  dangers,  threatening,  smart, 
Cool  the  affections  of  her  heart ; 
She  visits  where  the  prisoners  dwell, 
In  their  low,  damp  and  darkened  cell. 

Kneels  at  their  couch,  with  streaming  eye 
Points  them  to  mansions  up  on  high ; 
The  scene  on  Calvary  she  explains, 
The  dying  thief's  repenting  strains. 

The  bleeding  Lamb,  the  glittering  spear, 
And  Roman  soldiers  hovering  near ; 
The  crown  of  thorns  in  mockery  made 
And  placed  upon  his  kingly  head, 

His  acts  of  love,  his  dying  breath 
While  in  the  agonies  of  death, 
Cries  to  the  thief,  thy  soul  shall  be 
This  day  in  paradise  with  me. 


[24] 

Yes !    Woman's  love  is  a  holy  light, 
Time  cannot  dim  its  radiance  bright ; 
A  brilliant  star  that  God  has  given, 
To  lead  man's  erring  feet  to  Heaven. 

In  every  age  since  time  began, 
Her  chastity  unrivalled  stands ; 
And  virtue's  reins  she  will  control, 
Till  stars  and  planets  cease  to  roll. 

E.  M. 

Oregon  Spectator,  March  21,  1850. 


[25] 

Road  to  Oregon 

We  left  our  friends  in  foreign  lands — 

Our  native  country  dear; 
In  sorrow,  took  the  parting  hand 

And  shed  the  falling  tear. 

For  Oregon,  three  cheers  they  gave, 

From  us  to  disengage — 
Fearing-  that  we  might  find  our  graves 

Amidst  the  sand  and  sage; 

Or  met  by  cruel  savage  bands, 
And  slaughtered  on  the  way — 

Their  spectred  visions,  hand  in  hand, 
Would  round  our  pathway  play. 

To  the  Pacific's  temperate  clime 
Our  journey  soon  began — 

Traversing  through  the  desert  sands 
Towards  the  setting  sun. 


[26] 

On  Platte  the  rocks  like  battlements, 
Were  towering  tall  and  high ; 

The  frightened  elk  and  antelope 
Before  our  trains  would  fly. 

And  herds  of  buffalo  appear — 

On  either  side  they  stand ; 
Far  as  our  telescope  could  reach, 

One  thick  and  clustering  band. 

O'er  sinking  sands  and  barren  plains  , 
Our  frantic  teams  would  bound — 

While  some  were  wounded,  others  slain, 
Mid  wild  terrific  sound. 

And  in  these  lone  and  silent  dells 
The  winds  were  whispering  low ; 

And  moaning  to  the  Pilgrims,  tell 
Their  by-gone  tales  of  woe. 

Deserted  on  those  mountains  wild, 

No  ear  to  hear  his  cry — 
Near  by  a  spring,  on  a  rude  bluff. 

They  laid  poor  Scott  to  die. 


[27] 

Unaided  grief  and  blighted  hope, 
Midst  savage  beasts  of  prey — 

The  fate  of  poor  deserted  Scott 
Is  wrapped  in  mystery  ! 

Our  toils  are  done,  our  perils  o'er — 

The  weary  pilgrims'  band 
Have  reached  Columbia's  fertile  shore — 

That  far-famed  happy  land. 

O'er  mountains  high  and  burning  plains, 
Three  thousand  miles  or  more — 

We  are  here ;  but  who  can  e'er  explain 
Or  count  the  trials  o'er? 

Such  clouds  of  mist  hang  round  the  scene, 
O'er  which  we  have  no  control ; 

It's  like  a  half-remembered  dream, 
Or  tale  that's  long  been  told. 

E.  M. 

Oregon  City,  December,  1850. 

Oregon  Spectator,  January  9,  1851. 


I   28] 

Lines 

Composed  whilst  the  Lot  Whitcomb  made  her 
first  ascent  of  the  Rapids. 

Lot  Whitcomb  is  coming! 

Her  banners  are  flying — 
She  walks  up  the  rapids  with  speed ; 

She  ploughs  through  the  water, 

Her  steps  never  falter — 
Oh  !  that's  independence,  indeed. 

Old  and  young  rush  to  meet  her, 

Male  and  female,  to  greet  her, 
And  the  waves  lash  the  shore  as  they  pass. 

Oh !  she's  welcome,  thrice  welcome, 

To  Oregon  City; 
Lot  Whitcomb  is  with  us  at  last. 

Success  to  the  Steamer, 

Her  Captain  and  crew ; 
She  has  our  best  wishes  attained. 

Oh  !  that  she  may  never 

While  running  this  river 
Fall  back  on  the  sand  bar  again. 

E.  M. 

Oregon  Spectator,  June  5,  1851. 


[29] 

Friendship 

The  rosy  dreams  of  life  may  change, 

And  death  may  bring  affliction ; 
True  friendship  with  her  arms  of  love 
May  hold  us  up  from  sinking. 

And  friendship  is  a  fountain  where 
Springs  up  a  Heaven-born  treasure ; 
The  heart  o'ercharged  with  grief  and  care 
Count  her  a  priceless  treasure. 

Give  us  old  friends  with  kindred  minds, 
Tho'  far  from  home  we  are  straying; 
Tho'  fortune  frown  and  wealth  decline, 
We'll  grieve  not  their  decaying. 

Tho'  youth  and  beauty  fade  so  soon, 
And  death  would  seem  so  near  us ; 
Our  morning  sun  go  down  at  noon — 
May  friends  be  there  to  cheer  us. 

Within  the  altar  of  our  hearts 

Our  God  to  man  has  given 
The  richest  germ  he  could  impart 

To  be  matured  in  Heaven. 


[30] 

Let  others  stretch  their  tiny  arms 
And  grasp  for  fame  so  fleeting; 
For  me,  I  own  the  blissful  charms 
Of  Friendship's  holy  greeting. 

Oh  what  of  all  those  lordly  halls, 

Or  elevated  stations? 
We  ask  no  stronger,  safer  walls 
Around  our  habitations 

Than  friendship's  star  whose  radiant  beams 
Our  feeble  steps  attending; 
Or  golden  crowns  all  set  with  pearls, 
Their  various  colors  blending. 

And  when  the  sands  of  life  have  run — 

Our  feeble  voices  failing,- 
Our  labors  and  our  toils  are  done, 
And  we  are  homeward  tending. 

When  time  with  us  draws  near  the  close 
And  all  our  days  are  numbered, 
Our  hearts  forgiving  all  our  foes 
Lie  down  in  dreamless  slumber, 


May  loving  friends  stand  round  our  bed 

To  soothe  our  dying  pillow, 
And  Jesus  hold  our  sinking  head 

While  crossing  Jordan's  billow. 

E.  M, 

Oregon  Statesman,  June  13,  1851. 


\ 


Photomount 

Pamphlet 

Binder 

Gaylord  Bros.,  Inc. 

Makers 

Stockton,  Calif. 
PAT.  JAN.  21.  1908 


YB   12028 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


